


Another World

by foxysquid



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anal Sex, Bisexuality, Boyfriends, Dreams, Hand Jobs, Homosexuality, Kissing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Oral Sex, References to Illness, Romance, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 08:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1421251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Plagued by odd, violent dreams in which he has another name and another life, Alexander doesn't expect that he'll ever encounter anyone who shares memories of that other world, but when he meets his first college roommate, he finds him eerily familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another World

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write something for Mike/Levi week, and at the same time, I read too many SNK reincarnation AU comics. This is the result.

He couldn't say when the dreams had started. He'd always had them. He'd grown up with them, and it wasn't until he was five or six that he'd realized that other people didn't have them too: a second life that they lived through when they were sleeping, as vivid and real as the one they were in when they were awake. The other life didn't happen in order, like the real one, but like the real one, it could be boring as well as exciting. He would dream a long day in which absolutely nothing interesting happened, a day full of paperwork and tedium. Then the next night would be full of speed and flight and blood and the fast rhythm of his heart.

He used to talk about his dreams. When he was very small, too young to know any better, he'd expect people to know about the same names and places and things he'd dreamed of, and he'd babble on about them. Later, he framed them as stories, offering explanations and details, but they still felt just as genuine to him. The older he grew, the less people cared to hear about them. They weren't nice stories. When he was eleven, his parents sent him to a therapist. He wasn't stupid. He realized, soon enough, that she thought he'd created this dream world to escape from the real world, that it was a fantasy that needed to be taken apart. 

"Tell me more about the Titans," she said. "Why do they eat people?"

"I don't know. No one knows why," he said, and there was more that he knew about them, but he didn't feel like telling her, so he didn't. "They just do." He hated being analyzed and picked apart, so he decided to stop talking about the dreams altogether.

"Do you think they really exist somewhere, these Titans?"

"They aren't real," he lied. "They were weird nightmares I had, that's all."

"Alexander's very imaginative," she said cheerfully to his parents when the four of them spoke together in a family session. He was sure she spoke differently about him when he wasn't there to hear. He didn't know what she said, but he could guess.

"But I don't know why he always imagines--things like that," said his mother. "He's talked about them since he was old enough to talk."

"It's probably a result of anxiety. You feel anxious, don't you, Alex?"

"Yeah," he agreed. It wasn't a lie.

His mother glanced at him worriedly. They thought he'd been traumatized, that something terrible had happened to him without their knowing, but that wasn't it. His everyday life wasn't particularly eventful. His parents weren't rich, but they weren't poor, either. He went to school. His grades weren't exceptional, but they weren't awful. He was skilled at sports, but people tended not to take him seriously in athletics because of his height. In some ways, a shorter height could be more advantageous, and there had even been professional basketball players as tall as he was, but no one seemed aware of that, or they acted ignorant, and he had to prove them wrong personally, every time. He was good at that.

People could be so stupid. They judged you by appearances, or what they thought they knew about you. They acted on assumptions. They didn't think. He didn't get along well with most people. Why should he? They couldn't understand. He only shared half his life with them. The other half of him was somewhere else, far away. Possibly a place that didn't exist, like everyone said. Whether it existed or not, it didn't fade. The dreams didn't stop. They grew more vivid as he grew older. They weighed him down, and there wasn't anyone to share the burden with. It wasn't as if he didn't have friends, or friendly acquaintances, but he didn't get too close to any of them. There was too much about himself that he couldn't share. Even his name sounded odd when people said it. In his dreams, he was never Alex, always Levi.

No one called him Levi when he was awake.

There were days when he wondered if he was mad, if he had made these images up inside his head. Every sensible rule of the waking world told him that he had to be delusional to believe what he did: that the dreams were another world, or memories of another life. Maybe something terrible _had_ happened to him, or he was deeply disturbed. If he'd told the therapist the truth, would she have been able to fix whatever was wrong with him?

He couldn't believe that for long. It wouldn't have been fair to them, to the people in his dreams. That was a crazy thought, wasn't it? Yet it was one that he clung to. Those people mattered. If they had lived--and died--in some other place, then, if he was still alive and remembered them, he was living for them now, wasn't he?

Other kids at school acted sorry to leave high school and start college, especially those who were leaving their family and friends behind, but Alex wasn't sorry. He didn't apply to anywhere close to home, and he specifically chose the most distant college that offered him the greatest amount of money. He was ready to be gone, not that he expected college would be much different than high school had been, in some ways. He'd still be alone and odd, an outsider even when he was accepted by the crowd.

What was he supposed to do in this life? In the other life, the things he did felt vital, important, even if they were brutal and horrifying. Here, he felt oddly aimless. He was drifting, distant from the world around him. He was good at sports, but what else was he good for? Wasn't humanity important to him? Didn't he want to help people? He did, but he didn't know where to start. Helping was a vague goal, with no specific focus, and he wasn't a soldier. He was only a student, and one who sometimes had difficulty separating one world from the next.

He wasn't expecting much from college, but it was possible he'd get some idea of what to do with himself in this world, find something that would make him feel alive here, too. That was the most he was hoping for.

His parents drove him to school and saw him to his dorm room, but he chased them out early so he could unpack alone. It wasn't that he didn't love them. He did, and he wanted what was best for them, but on some days, he felt like he wasn't really their son. That wasn't fair to them. They were better off going.

At least he could make his half of the room the way he wanted it. He hoped that his roommate wasn't going to be a slob. He had some control over his environment here, but there was someone else involved, an unknown quantity. The thought of someone leaving messes right under his nose was maddening. As he neatly refolded his clothes, he frowned down at them, envisioning the piles of messy clothing that might be in his future.

"Hey--Alex, right?" A voice spoke from the doorway.

That must be his--hopefully neat--roommate. He turned and immediately stilled. The person standing in the doorway was enormously tall, with shaggy, dark blond hair hanging in his face, through which hazel eyes peered curiously. His size was unusual, but that wasn't why Alex was staring at him. He recognized him. For the first time in his life, he recognized someone from the dream world. There were slight differences; he was younger, his face rounder, his body less hardened and his bare arms unscarred, but the shock of recognition was unmistakable, unless he had finally lost his mind.

The huge blond guy was staring back at him. Alex wondered, if he was really that person, did he remember that other life too? Or did the expression on his face give away how surprised he was? Did he seem strange?

"Michael," said Alex slowly, after having allowed far too much time to pass while he'd been gaping at his new roommate. He'd been informed of his roommate's name in the material the college had sent him.

Slowly, Michael nodded. "Yeah, but you can just call me Mike."

"Mike. All right." Even his name was the same, though the accent may have been different. Somehow, that made sense. It wouldn't have felt right to call him anything else.

He hesitated. Should he ask about it? But how could he ask something like that? As he was trying to formulate a question that wouldn't sound completely mad, Mike stretched out his very long arm to offer his hand. "Nice to meet you."

_Nice to meet you._ Meaning they hadn't met before. This was the first time. They'd never trained and fought together. They hadn't faced death together. They were simply college roommates. "Nice to meet you, too." Alex took his hand. He wasn't Levi. Of course not.

Mike smiled. He had an easy, half smile, one corner of his mouth tugging upward in a way that was both lopsided and friendly. "I thought I'd stop in and check if you were here already. My parents are still around, and we're gonna eat. Want to go out to lunch with us?"

It was a nice gesture, but Alex shook his head. "No, I have too much to do," he said. The truth was, he couldn't do it. He couldn't go out to lunch and pretend that nothing was wrong, not when someone from his dreams had just stepped into his other life. His heart was still hammering in his chest. He didn't know what to think, let alone what to say. "So thanks, but no."

Mike's smile faded, but he didn't look upset. "Sure," he said. "Catch you later, then." He left, with a lazy wave of his hand.

_Catch you later?_ Who talked that way?

With Mike gone, Alex continued to unpack, but he'd lost his determination and his focus, his clothes no longer lying as neatly when he placed them in the drawer. If he'd met one person from his dreams, did that mean there could be others, somewhere in the world? Or was that not what was happening at all? What if it was a delusion, and it was spilling over into his waking life, making it impossible to tell reality from his dreams? It could be that the stress of starting college was affecting him more than he'd thought. This shouldn't be happening.

Later, when Mike returned with his parents, Alex felt the same striking recognition again. It washed over him and left him feeling dazed and almost feverish. He was startled by the familiarity of the young man walking through his room. The sound of his voice, his mannerisms, the shape of his eyes--they were all so unmistakable. He introduced Alex to his parents, then began to bring in the boxes that held his own possessions.

Alex kept to himself as Mike and his parents worked together unpacking. He missed his own parents, but he felt he didn't have a right to, as he'd asked them to leave. He'd be fine without them. He didn't need them. He could do things for himself. He could survive on his own. If only he hadn't encountered this unexpected phenomenon, he would be fine right now. He had thought about meeting one of the people from his other life in this one, especially when he was a kid, but it had been a long time since he'd considered it probable or even plausible that such a thing could happen. He hadn't ever considered the possibility that such a person, if he met them, might not have the memories he did. He wasn't prepared for this.

Fortunately, as he discovered shortly, Mike was neat. With such an easygoing attitude and careless hairstyle, Alex would have expected him to be careless in his housekeeping, but he kept everything clean and orderly. He was sensitive about smells, and one night, he became deeply disheartened by the strong incense someone who lived on their hall was burning, sitting by the open window with a dejected expression on his face. In frustration, Alex knocked on the doors until he found out who was burning that shit and told them to put it out. He didn't care about their crappy incense, or if burning it was against regulations, but he couldn't stand to see Mike gazing sadly out the window.

When Mike found out Alex was on the basketball team, he didn't appear incredulous, but said, "It's funny, it's the opposite of what you'd think. You'd think I'd be the one into basketball, but I don't like sports much."

"Why not?" It was true, Alex would have thought he would be interested in things like that, and not only because of his physique.

Mike shrugged and rubbed the back of his head. "No reason. Just don't like them, I guess. Organized sports. I like hiking and stuff like that. I bet you're really good, though."

"Yeah, thanks."

For the most part, Alex kept himself apart, as he always had. He got along well enough with Mike, but roommates didn't have to be best friends, so he didn't make a special effort to get close to him. If Mike didn't know about the other world, it was better not to. It was too weird. It made him doubt himself and his sanity, and he was wary of giving too much away. 

Mike was a good roommate. He was clean and polite and thoughtful, but he wasn't like Alex. He was quiet, but friendly and open. He had friends. Not a crowd of them, but more than Alex chose to surround himself with. He played guitar--not amazingly well, but a little better than you'd expect an average college freshman to play guitar. He liked to draw, and he had a few sketchbooks that Alex had never asked to see, though he had noticed Mike showing them to other people.

At one point in their first few weeks as roommates, he'd asked Alex, "You don't mind if I bring company over, do you? Not when you're busy studying or trying to sleep, but sometimes? I mean, we can always leave, if you want."

"I don't mind."

He actually didn't have a problem with it. He wasn't some kind of roommate tyrant, but it soon became clear to him that when Mike said "company", he meant "dates". At first, he thought Mike had a girlfriend, but the girl he brought over the first few times was eventually supplanted by a second, and then a third. Mike was never obvious or rude about it. He didn't do anything gross like like make out with them in Alex's presence, but sometimes he'd draw in close to a girl and put an arm over her shoulder and smile. There was nothing unusual about it. He was a normal college kid. It was Alex who wasn't normal.

It wasn't until one of these dates happened to be a boy that Alex found himself growing inexplicably uncomfortable. He tried to busy himself with what he was working on, as he usually did, but the awareness of Mike, behind him, touching this guy's shoulder made him tense. His fingers curled up into a fist. They weren't doing anything but talking quietly, but eventually, Alex couldn't bear it anymore. He had to get up and leave the room. He tried to pretend as if he wasn't bothered, but simply had somewhere else to be.

Mike wasn't fooled. "Hey," he said, when Alex returned to the room later, after hours of studying in the library followed by practice, "Can I talk to you?"

"Sure, you can talk." Alex sat down at his desk, setting his bag down on the floor next to his chair.

"I think I might have upset you today--was it okay to bring back a guy? Maybe I should have asked first. I didn't think about it."

"It's fine," said Alex. "I don't care." He was aware of how unconvincing he sounded, and he didn't want Mike to think he was a bigot, so he added, "I'm gay." He usually didn't tell anyone that, so the words were clipped and forced. Mike might as well know, not that Alex was likely to bring anyone home.

"Oh," said Mike, blinking. "I didn't know that."

"It's not anyone's business."

Mike wasn't offended. He chuckled, tilting his head slightly to one side, his hair falling in his face. "No, I guess not. Well, that's good, right?"

"How is it good?"

"I mean, you won't mind if I date a guy, and that's good."

"No, I won't. You can date anyone you want." Yet he had minded. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't that Mike was bisexual. That didn't bother him. He didn't want to think too much about the reason why he'd been upset. It strengthened his resolve to keep his distance from Mike.

Mike wasn't entirely deterred. He didn't give up on asking Alex to do things with him. It wasn't every day, but it happened regularly enough. He'd turn as he was heading out the door and casually ask, "Hey, you want to have lunch with me?" or "Some friends and I are going out, if you want to come with." Or something like that.

Usually, Alex refused, but never impolitely. With his involvement in sports, he often had training to do, and he was weighed down with classes. There was always a practice or an essay or a convenient excuse to use, even if he could have made the time. Mike never seemed to mind. "Sure," he'd say. "See you round." 

So as not to be a complete asshole, he did go down to lunch with Mike a few times, but he kept the conversation simple and impersonal. He didn't want Mike to think he didn't like him, but he couldn't shake the images of Mike, drenched in their comrades' blood; of Mike, rising up from his saddle with swords in hand, leaping into the sky. Breathing hard and feverish after he'd been wounded. Standing on top of the Wall with the wind blowing his hair back. And he remembered the courier, arriving with the news that Mike and his squad had been wiped out. The young man had saluted and delivered the news as dispassionately as he could, although his hand was shaking. Soldiers tried not to show their emotions, but they were only human. Losing a respected, seasoned fighter was always a painful blow. It made everyone feel a little weaker.

Losing a friend was worse.

Mike didn't act as if he remembered any of that. He didn't so much as hint at it, and so Levi assumed he was unaware, even though he himself didn't hint at what he knew.

He didn't falter in his belief until one night, early in their second semester, when he woke up to hear Mike retching violently in the bathroom. Every double room on their floor had its own attached bathroom, which Alex far preferred to the potential horrors of a communal bathroom. It would have been natural to assume that Mike was sick because he'd been drinking, but it was the middle of the week. He hadn't been out, to Alex's knowledge. Besides, Alex had never known him to be a heavy drinker.

Concerned by the noise, Alex slipped out of bed and knocked on the bathroom door. "I'm okay," came the muffled response, followed shortly by more retching.

"Fuck that," said Alex, and opened the door.

Mike was kneeling in front of the toilet, his hair a mess, and when he turned to Alex, there was an expression on his face that Alex had never seen there before. He looked _haunted_ , his lips twisted, his skin pale and sweaty, and his eyes staring as if at some horror Alex couldn't see. At first, Alex couldn't say anything, not when faced with that look, but he came closer. He put a hand on Mike's shoulder, because he looked like nothing so much as someone in need of comfort. "You need me to get you anything?"

Mike shook his head, then threw up into the toilet again, as Alex drew his hand back. It was clear he'd long ago thrown up everything he'd eaten. He had nothing but stomach acid left inside of him. "No," he said, once he'd recovered himself, breathing hard. "I'm okay, I just have a bad stomach."

At that, it occurred to Alex that Mike might be sick--not just nauseous, but seriously ill. He was the kind of person who would keep something like that to himself. He asked himself, what if Mike died, again? What if he lost him, the one person from his dreams that he'd ever found? Then all those times he'd decided not to go to lunch with him or to go out with his friends would be examples of idiocy, because, he realized, he'd miss him. "What do you mean? What's wrong?"

"It's nothing serious," said Mike, to his relief. "Nerves, you know. I have a nervous stomach."

_Mike_ and _nerves_ were two concepts he'd never connected in his mind. Mike, who seemed so laid back and difficult to ruffle. He was nervous?

"I'm feeling better now, though," said Mike, who did look much better. The color was returning to his skin, and his breathing was returning to normal. He reached up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "Thanks, Alex."

He hadn't done anything, but somehow, Mike made him feel like he had, and he said, "You're welcome," nonetheless.

Mike had made him curious, so the next day, Alex did something he would ordinarily never do. He had the morning free, and Mike had class, so he slipped into the bathroom and looked through Mike's side of the cabinet. There were a number of prescription medicines in there, not only for his stomach and for pain. One was an antipsychotic. Alex frowned. There was nothing wrong with the medicine itself. So many people were in therapy or on some kind of medication for mental illness, but he was upset with himself. This time, he was the stupid person acting on assumptions and judging by appearances. He'd made so many assumptions about the kind of person Mike was and how easy things were for him. As it turned out, he didn't know him at all. That was his own fault. Mike had made every effort to get to know him better.

Instead of spending time with him, now Alex was going through his things secretly. He was disgusted with himself. He was really an asshole. He shut the cabinet immediately. He threw himself on his bed and tried to distract himself with reading, but it was difficult to think of anything but what he was already thinking of, which was Mike.

When Mike himself appeared, hours later, Alex was still trying and failing to distract himself, so he looked up and put his book aside. "Hi."

"How's it going?" asked Mike.

"You feeling any better today?" he asked.

"Oh, that. Sure, lots better. Sorry if I worried you. That happens sometimes, but I try not to wake you up. It was just really bad last night."

Alex wondered how many times he'd slept through one of those episodes. "It's okay, Mike. Mike--" He broke off, because he wanted to ask him something, but he wasn't sure what. 

"Yeah?"

"Nothing."

"Do you want to hang out?" Mike asked.

"Sure," Alex replied immediately, displaying more enthusiasm than he usually did.

"Cool." Mike smiled. "Anything you want to do?"

Alex wanted to know if he took those medicines in part because he remembered the same things Alex did, but he wasn't sure how to bring it up now, after they'd been living together for so long. You couldn't just come out and ask someone if they remembered a brutal war and grisly deaths and a world in which everyone had been locked within the narrow confines of a few walls. "I was wondering--could I look at your sketchbook? I never saw it."

"You're interested in that?" Mike laughed. "I'm not that good. But sure. If you want, I don't mind." It was stuffed into his bag, and it took him a few moments to extract it: a weathered and beaten spiral-bound book. He handed it to Alex. "Here you go."

Alex leafed through it, feeling self-conscious as he did so, aware of Mike sitting on the other side of the room. The first few pages of the book were fairly normal drawings, mostly of people, or trees, or dogs. They might not have been astounding, but they weren't bad, either. They were what he would have expected Mike would draw. Several pages in, the art transformed. It was as another artist altogether had taken over the sketchbook. These pages were filled with dark and looming shapes and faces that were much too close, distorted and staring and blood-stained. Mike must have been watching his reactions, because he said, "Those are my nightmare drawings."

"Yeah?" Alex tried to keep his tone neutral.

"I have bad nightmares, and my therapist said I should try drawing things from them. That's why I started keeping a sketchbook in the first place, when I was a kid."

_When he was a kid._

"Did it help?" Alex asked.

"It helped a little," he said. "So I keep doing it. It's kind of a habit now. Some people think it's weird."

"It's not weird." Alex leafed farther through the sketchbook, and the same pattern was repeated: several pages of ordinary, almost cheerful drawings of the everyday world, followed by two or three pages of roughly drawn darkness and violence. "It's interesting."

"You really think so?"

He nodded, before confessing, "I went to a therapist once, but not for long."

"It didn't help?"

"Not really. I didn't like talking to her," said Alex, feeling oddly free as he said this. He'd never admitted it to anyone before. Only his parents had known about his visits.

"It's probably different for everyone," said Mike, in his usual understanding way. "And it depends on the therapist. I had some I didn't like. And psychiatrists--some of them are real assholes."

It sounded like he'd been to see a few of them. Alex wondered if Mike was at the point where, as Alex's therapist had wanted, he'd come to see the dream world as nothing but a delusion, to put it behind him. If that was the case, then wouldn't it be wrong to talk about it, to make him remember again? Whatever dreams he'd had had obviously caused him a great deal of pain.

"We could go to lunch, if you want," suggested Mike, interrupting his thoughts.

"Sure, I'd like that."

Mike smiled again. He looked happy. Alex wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize that happiness.

They went down to the dining hall together. Alex tried to engage in ordinary conversation during lunch, and he thought he managed fairly well, though Mike surprised him with his openness. Alex, not sure what else to ask him about, fell back on the earlier topic and asked if he was still seeing a therapist--he must have been seeing someone, if he was taking those medicines, but Alex wasn't about to admit that he'd looked through them. " I probably will for a while," said Mike. "But not forever. I used to be really sick. I was institutionalized once, when I was in high school. But I'm a lot better now." He said this simply and plainly, without apology. He liked that about Mike, that he didn't apologize for himself. 

Alex nodded. What could he say to that? He couldn't tell him. He couldn't risk hurting him. Maybe moving on and forgetting was the right thing to do, and he'd made the wrong choice.

Now that he'd agreed to spend time with Mike, Mike followed him like a dog, back up to their room. Alex found he couldn't mind. He enjoyed his company.

"Are you still dating that guy?" he asked, casting about for another subject and not wanting to touch on the unpleasant subject of Mike's health again. Mike had no apparent qualms about discussing it, but Alex did.

"No, but we're still friends," said Mike.

"I haven't seen you bring anyone around lately." He'd wondered if that meant Mike hadn't been dating.

"Yeah, I upset you that one time, so I figured I should be more polite and not bring them around," said Mike.

"I told you, I wasn't upset," said Alex, flushing.

"Are you seeing anybody?" asked Mike, and Alex had cause to regret bringing up this subject.

"No," he said quickly. "I don't date."

"Not at all?"

"Not really." He was sitting on the edge of his bed, facing Mike, who was seated in his chair. He looked down at the floor. It was too difficult for him to date. He'd tried in high school, a couple times, but it hadn't gone well. His memories, false or not, kept getting in the way. He'd found himself shutting down, starting to resent the other person--for not knowing, for not understanding, which wasn't their fault. So he'd decided not to have a romantic life at all. It usually didn't bother him. "I know you're popular with girls. And boys, apparently."

"Nah, not really." Mike chuckled, as if he found the idea of being popular amusing. "It's never anything serious. Just hanging out."

"Why's that?" Alex asked. He had the distinct feeling that he shouldn't be asking about this. He should change the subject. He swallowed, and his throat felt tight.

"I don't know--I like people, but in the end, it's hard to connect with anyone like that. I can't do it. It's like there's something missing. So it's probably not fair to get serious with them, you know?"

Alex found himself nodding. "I know," he said at last.

"You feel like that too?"

"Yeah. All the time." Why was he admitting to this? This was the most he'd talked about his feelings in--a long time. He couldn't remember telling anyone this before. Mike had a way of making him want to express himself. To connect, when he'd given up on accomplishing anything like that.

"Maybe we're not so weird, then, if we both feel that way."

"Maybe not." Even if he couldn't mention that other world to Mike, he did find that it was easier to talk to him, now that he'd made an attempt.

Mike laughed. The sound was gentle and pleased. "You're really interested in me today. I'm glad. I was starting to think you didn't like me much, Levi."

Almost every muscle in Alex's body tensed. "What did you call me?" he asked.

"Alex," said Mike quickly. "I mean, that's your name."

"No, you didn't." Alex glared at him. "So tell me what you said."

Mike reached up to scratch the back of his head, now no longer so happy. "Levi. Sorry, I know it's not your name, but you look like someone else I know." He said this awkwardly, as if not sure whether he wanted to admit it, or whether what he was saying was true. "I won't say it again. It slipped out."

He took a deep breath. "No," he said, "that's fine."

"Fine?" Now Mike looked more confused than unhappy, pursing his lips and tilting his head.

"You can call me that, if you want."

"Oh," said Mike. His eyes widened as they sat gazing at each other from their separate sides of the room. "So you don't mind? Levi."

"I said I didn't," he said quickly, "so obviously I don't." There. It was out now, in spite of his determination not to talk about it. He couldn't unsay it, not that he'd admitted anything direct or specific--but accepting the name must have been enough. He could tell that by the look in Mike's eyes.

Mike rose to his feet.

"Wait," said Levi, "what are you doing--"

Before he could formulate any protest, Mike was beside him on his bed. He wrapped an arm around him and pulled him close, burying his face in Levi's neck and breathing in deeply in a series of long, drawn-out sniffs. "Damn it, Mike, you idiot," Levi sighed, but he didn't have the heart to push him away.

"It's really you," said Mike.

"Yeah, it is." This was happening. Mike remembered, too. Levi wasn't sure how to digest this or what he should do, so he remained very still.

"I thought I was going crazy. I didn't know why you didn't want to talk to me." Mike was still holding him, and Levi let him, even though he wasn't used to being touched. It was fine, when Mike did it. He didn't mind.

He hadn't guessed he'd been hurting Mike when he'd been trying to help him. "I thought we'd both be better off that way. And I didn't know how much you knew."

Mike was lying down, pulling Levi down with him, and Levi didn't object to this, either. He lay on his bed, facing Mike, with Mike's arm around him. This was--different, but not bad. "I remember all kinds of things," Mike said. "I used to have nothing but bad dreams, dreams about dying over and over again."

Levi frowned. He'd never been good at offering comfort, but he put a hand on Mike's shoulder, as he had in the bathroom the night before. Mike rarely said so much at once, all in a rush like this, but it was as if he was letting out words that he'd kept inside for years. "But then I started to have better dreams. Dreams about being young, and having a different family, and growing up, and training as a soldier. Dreams about you, and--"

"Everyone else," said Levi.

Mike nodded. "Did you ever meet anyone else? From that place?"

"No. No, you're the only one I ever found."

"Same here," said Mike. He pulled Levi closer, wrapping his arm more firmly around him. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," said Levi, whose body was warming beneath that touch. This wasn't something he'd remembered, being with Mike like this. He was fairly certain this hadn't happened before, in any world.

"I don't want to let you go now," said Mike.

Levi closed his eyes, pressing his head against Mike's chest. He felt warm. After so many years of being the only one, it was a good feeling, to know that someone else had experienced the same things. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I used to think it was all real, that the dreams were what was really happening and that the other, safer, world was fake," said Mike. "Then I thought the dreams were fake and this was the only real thing. But I couldn't bear that either. So I just--tried to keep them both somehow."

He wasn't surprised when Mike pulled away, or when that movement away was only so that Mike could lean down and kiss him. Levi kissed him back, his tongue sliding easily between Mike's lips, because he liked him. He wanted to be with him. Not the other Mike, but his roommate who played guitar and didn't like organized sports and couldn't bear the scent of incense, who was always kind to him and who narrowed his eyes and tilted his head to the side when he was confused or when he laughed.

"Levi... are you sure this is okay?"

"I'm sure." Was it reckless of him? Probably. It wasn't like him at all, to do something like this--but he didn't want Mike going on his dates with other people, no matter how casual they were. In the intensity of what he was feeling, he wanted to be close to Mike. He wanted him. He pulled at his shirt, and Mike, obligingly, pulled it off. The skin underneath was smooth and scarless, and when Levi ran his hands over it, Mike shuddered.

Mike stripped him of his own clothes, his hands stroking everywhere, making Levi voice his pleasure with long sighs. Aside from changing in the locker room, he'd never been naked with someone else. He'd never let someone see him so completely. He'd never had the cause or desire to, and now, those years of holding things back were crumbling away. Mike was the only person who knew what he'd suffered through, and being known, at last, for himself, was more overwhelming than he'd expected. He felt like he had to _do_ something, but he didn't know what to do, other than this, to affirm that they were alive, that they were together. He wanted this.

He licked at Mike's chest, at his neck, and Mike reached down to unzip his fly and struggle out of his pants. Levi took Mike's cock in his hand--he was inexperienced, yet he wasn't, because at the same time, he remembered other things that had happened in another world, and he knew how to touch Mike and make him gasp.

"I don't want to hurt you," said Mike.

"You can hardly avoid it with that thing," Levi replied.

"Maybe not, but I want to try. Hold on." Mike retreated across the room for a moment, only to return to the bed with a bottle in his hand. Of course he would have lube. He wet his fingers, then slipped his hands between Levi's legs. With one hand, he began to work a finger into Levi's asshole, and with his other hand, he stroked Levi's cock. The finger felt uncomfortable at first, but the hand on his cock took his mind off it. "That's so good, Levi." As his finger pressed deeper inside, Mike leaned down to take Levi's cock into his mouth. Levi's hips rose, and he murmured a string of curses as he fucked Mike's mouth. Mike's tongue rolled around his cock as Mike added a second finger to the first. 

"Shit, Mike, don't stop doing that." Even the fingers were starting to feel good now, Mike moving them slowly and carefully. Mike couldn't reply to him, but he moaned around Levi's cock, and Levi took this to mean that he wasn't going to stop.

Levi held onto the sheets with both hands and clenched his jaw as he came in Mike's mouth. Mike swallowed his come eagerly, and Levi hissed as he felt himself tighten around Mike's fingers. "I like how you taste," Mike said, licking his lips.

Levi thought Mike would fuck him right then, but he'd meant what he'd said about not hurting him. He kept fingering him, moving up to kiss him as he did so. Levi could taste his come on Mike's lips. "You're cute," said Mike, smiling against his mouth. Levi could feel the faint prickle of his mustache. 

"Fuck, don't call me cute when you've got your fingers in my ass, Mike," said Levi.

"Sorry. I won't do it again."

"When are you going to fuck me?"

"When you're ready, hold on..." He added a third finger to the other two. Already feeling incredibly slick and stretched out by those thick fingers, Levi didn't know how much more time Mike was going to take, but he didn't rush him. He enjoyed it. His body had been starved for touch without his knowing it, and now it reacted to every little contact, his skin prickling at the warmth of Mike's breath on his neck. He was already getting hard again.

"Ah, there we go. That should be better." Mike pulled his fingers out, then squeezed some more lube from the bottle, this time rubbing it on his own cock. "You tell me if you want me to stop, all right?"

"Just put it in, Mike."

Mike nodded, pulling up Levi's legs and centering himself between them. When he pushed in, it did hurt, but less than Levi had been expecting it to. He grabbed Mike's shoulders, saying his name. Mike slid in slowly, but unhesitatingly, not pausing until the full length of his cock was inside Levi. He let out a deep breath. "There. You've got it all."

"Fuck, it's huge."

"Does it hurt?"

"Of course, fuck."

"I can--"

"No, do it," said Levi, whose patience was finally wearing thin. He wanted Mike to fuck him, but he didn't want to draw it out any longer than necessary. His body wasn't used to it.

Obediently, Mike began to move, and Levi's nails sank into his skin. He moaned when Mike's hand found his cock again. Mike was always taking care of him. He angled his hips and kept his legs spread, letting Mike press farther inside him. He felt a low, deep pleasure and suddenly moaned again.

Mike covered Levi's lips with his own in a kiss. Levi kissed him back, hungrily, sucking on his tongue. This was definitely foolish and probably too soon, but he was already doing it, so it was too late to stop, and it felt so good, he didn't want to. Mike moved faster. The sharper movements brought more pain with them, but Levi bore it and didn't ask for him to stop. He could tell from Mike's shaking and from the noises he was making that it wasn't going to be much longer. He was right. With one deep thrust, Mike came inside him, and Levi groaned and sank his nails deeper into Mike's arms. "Fuck--"

"I'm sorry--" He pulled out, breathing hard. There was sweat on his forehead.

"Don't say that," Levi managed, although he found it hard to talk. Mike had lost hold of him for a moment, as he'd come, but he'd wrapped his hand around Levi's cock again. Levi was half in pain and half in pleasure, and it was too good. He didn't hold back. He let himself come all over Mike's hand, swearing again.

With a sigh, Mike collapsed on top of him.

"God, you're so heavy, you're going to crush me," said Levi.

"Ah, right." Mike flopped over so he was lying on his side facing Levi, his arm around Levi's waist. Both of them were sweaty and disgusting, but Levi was too tired to move and do something about it. "Is that better?"

"Yeah, I can breathe again."

"You're cute," said Mike, kissing his forehead.

"I told you not to call me that." Levi narrowed his eyes. People didn't call him cute. That was not a thing he permitted.

"You said not to when I have my fingers in your ass," said Mike.

"Consider it a general rule."

"Okay, I will." Mike kissed him again, this time on his eyebrow. "Does that mean this is a general thing?"

"I don't know."

"I hope so," said Mike. He pulled Levi in close, so the two of them were touching, front to front, Levi's head resting below Mike's chin. "I always liked dreaming about you," he said quietly. "The way you rose up above everybody. You gave everyone hope."

"I'm not like that now," said Levi. He wasn't humanity's hero, or anything like that. He had no idea how he'd go about becoming that, in a world like this. It wasn't that things had been simpler then, not by any means, but they had been different. Everything was different now. They were entirely different people, in a different world. 

"You give me hope," said Mike.

Levi was startled by this, and touched, but at the same time, he withdrew from the sentiment, because he told himself that he wasn't that person. Not now. Not here. Even if he felt like he was. "Don't say such stupid things."

"I'll try not to," said Mike, wrapping himself around Levi. "I'm glad that you remember."

"How could I forget someone so tall and weird?"

Mike sniffed at his hair, with a laugh. "Yeah, how could you? And how could I forget someone so short and angry?"

"I should hit you for that," said Levi, with a snort.

"But you won't."

"No, I won't," he agreed with a sigh. He had neither the heart nor the energy to hit Mike.

"Let's stay like this for a while," said Mike. "It's funny, but when we're like this, I feel like I finally belong somewhere."

Levi knew what he meant. Usually, he felt like he didn't truly belong anywhere, neither in that world nor in this one, but now, for a moment, it felt like the two had come together and made everything real. "Me too," he said.


End file.
